The Clean Gene

When the going gets tough, the tough get cleaning. I know that's not the official saying, but I guess you could say it's my motto.

Not that things are tough right now--in fact, things are going really well. But, there are lots of things. They swirl around me like the dust particles that float gently to my wood floor, dancing in the sunlight, teasing me with their presence.

I contemplated journaling, then tried knocking out a project for work, but I couldn't get my body to be still, much less my buzzing brain.

So, I cleaned. I needed to do it anyway. I had company last weekend, a college kid home on a short break, and more company is on their way next weekend. And, I can't have them thinking I'm living like an animal in a prairie of dust and hair tumbleweeds.

Something magical happens to me when I clean. I get in a zone, immediately prioritizing and organizing tasks in a super efficient way. First, throw a load of laundry in. Then, clean the kitchen so I can run the dishwasher. Next, I move to the fans. Most of the time, my Swiffer duster comes out looking brand new, but it makes me feel better that there's no smut lurking over my head. Then, wipe down all the furniture before moving onto the floors. In between, I keep loads of laundry rotating so I can fold and hang everything when I'm done.

< I'll pause to let those of you who know me and my utter hatred of laundry laugh hysterically. >

I will fold John's stuff and shove my unfolded underwear and bras in drawers, but anything that requires hanging will sit in a neat pile for a day or two, sometimes with hangers nearby, just for good measure. He's on his own for ironing. Sorry, not sorry.

For me, cleaning is meditative. The whirl of the floor cleaner, vacuuming and mopping in one clean swoop (seriously the best investment I've made), the aromas of cleaning products as I release the spray from the bottles and cans, the squeaky clean sound of the rag wiping all the grime away. When I clean my environment, I am also cleaning out my mind. It is something I can do that has an immediate positive outcome. I will ignore the fact that there is already dust on the base of the table and the TV stand. (or will I?) And, as for my body, I'm so pooped out when I'm done, I have no choice but to be still.

When I shared with some friends that I went on a cleaning frenzy, one jokingly said I need to come over when I was stressed so she could let her cleaning lady go, and the other said she didn't have that stress cleaning gene. Thanks for the inspiration for a title, Helen. I do have the clean gene. As a recovering stress eater, I figure cleaning is a better option. Plus, I can count it as a workout, right? I squat, bend, reach, take steps, and sweat. Yep, I'm counting it as a workout.

So, if anyone wants to come over, come over now while everything is spic and span. Just let me wipe up those rogue dust particles first.


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